


The Storm Will Pass, The Spring Will Come

by skippi



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: Alternate Canon, Busted, F/F, Pupcake - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-16 12:37:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9272120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skippi/pseuds/skippi
Summary: Never cut a tree down in the wintertime. Never make a negative decision in the low time. Never make your most important decisions when you are in your worst moods. Wait. Be patient. The storm will pass. The spring will come.Robert H. Schuller





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A photo led to a drabble which led to the rest!

The pair sat on the bench; their skin glowing in the early spring sunshine. A gentle breeze carried the scent of honeysuckle and traces of the women’s laughter. The red-head threw back her head in response to her companion’s soundless words and smiled. Placing a hand into the taller woman’s, the brunette leaned her head closer. The red-head lifted the cigarette she was holding to her lips and inhaled, releasing a trail of smoke before resting a hand on the shorter woman’s knee. She dropped the cigarette to the floor and stood. The watching figure edged further into the shadows.

**~~~~~~~**

Turning it over in her mind for the umpteenth time that evening, she roughly unscrewed the jar she was clutching and jabbed a finger into its contents. Stay out of it you nosey old bugger, she told herself as she quickly massaged the cream into her skin. No good ever came from interfering in other folks business. What will be will be, as they say. She didn’t much relish the idea of what _would_ be however, if the wrong people discovered their secret, and that would only be a matter of time, she was certain, if they continued being so careless. 

There was of course, a possibility that she had been mistaken in what she had seen, she conceded as she replenished a finger and rubbed cream into the dry skin on her elbows. She stopped rubbing and dropped her hands into her lap as she once more pictured the scene. No, there was no mistake. What on earth were they thinking? In public, for any Tom, Dick and Harry to see.   They could explain it away as being friendly affection; of course they could, if it weren’t for all the other things. The lingering looks, the subtle touches, the room visits late at night… signs she was all too familiar with. She screwed the lid back on the jar and angrily banged it down on the bedside table. She had witnessed the ruination of many a promising career in her time and was damned if she would see it happen to them too. She had, after all, become very fond of them both. She approved heartily of Nurse Mount’s brisk efficiency and attention to hygiene, and knew that, like her, there lay great warmth and kindness behind the stern demeanour and strict professionalism so many folk failed to see beyond. And as for Nurse Busby; she had always found her to be a sweet, affable girl; most capable and eager to learn. A little on the cheeky side at times, but bursting with the vitality and passion for life she loved to see in young women. No, she reasoned, it would be such a waste, and for what? As long as their exemplary standard of work continued unabated, she supposed, it was no concern of hers.

She looked up thoughtfully as she heard cheerful, animated voices drift closer along the hallway and enter the room next door. They clearly made one another happy, she smiled, retrieving her glasses from the bedside table and cleaning them distractedly on the skirt of her uniform. The lack of a special companion had never troubled her all that much. You don’t miss what you have never had. But during those private, pensive moments, lying quietly alone in bed at night, she had often imagined how her life would be if things were different. She couldn’t help feeling, if she were honest, pangs of loneliness during those moments. She smiled wistfully at the muffled laughter coming from the other side of the wall. And perhaps even envy she admitted.

She felt glad though, that they at least, had found that special person. That they were in love, she was in no doubt. Who was she, or anyone else for that matter, to say that it was wrong? Love, whatever form it took, should be grabbed and clung tightly onto with both hands. And protected. She nodded resolutely, reaching for the book laying on the bed and settling back against the headboard, satisfied with the decision she had reached.

Pausing as she rifled through the chapter on imperfect verbs, Phyllis became increasingly aware of something unsettling. She removed her glasses and listened, frowning at the unbroken silence behind her head.

‘Come on girls,’ she whispered pleadingly, ‘you need to be smarter than that.’

She let out a heavy sigh and returned to her book, more certain than ever of what she must do.

**~~~~~~~**

Eager to make the most of the sudden and unexpected sunny weather London was currently experiencing, Delia hurriedly changed out of her uniform and tore out of her room, narrowly avoiding hurtling in to a furtive looking Sister Monica Joan on the stairs.

‘Afternoon Sister,’ she called as she hurried  past, chuckling at the cake tin the elderly Nun was trying unsuccessfully to conceal behind her back.

She trotted down the back steps onto the courtyard and plopped herself down onto the bench. Sighing contentedly, The brunette stretched out her legs and closed her eyes. It was so wonderful to feel the warmth of the sun on her skin, particularly after such a bitterly cold winter, and miserable start to spring. She was tempted to keep her eyes shut and steal forty winks, but instead picked up the copies of Photoplay from her lap. She had spent the little free time she had had in recent weeks, when she wasn’t catching up with sleep, with Patsy, so there was still last month’s edition to read as well as April’s. Glancing around to check she was alone, she allowed her eyes to roam appreciatively over April’s cover. Although not a patch on Patsy’s, Elizabeth Taylor’s breasts looked magnificent in the blue, zip fronted catsuit she was wearing, and she spent a happy minute or two becoming blissfully lost in their full, round curves and inviting cleavage. She cleared her throat and quickly placed the magazine to one side, deciding with a smirk she had better leave that one for later. March’s cover was singularly less interesting. She opened it on her lap and started reading.

Hearing soft footsteps approach the bench, Delia lifted her eyes from an article on Billy Fury, up into the tired blue eyes of Nurse Crane.

‘Good afternoon Miss Busby.’ she chimed, ‘do you mind if I…?’ She waved a hand at the empty space beside Delia.

‘Of course not, be my guest,’ Delia smiled.

She sat down with a weary sigh. After a few moments of silence, the older midwife spoke, gesturing at a corner of the courtyard where several freshly planted pots were scattered.

‘I see that Sister Monica Joan has been up to her old tricks again.’

Delia grinned as she followed the midwife's gaze. ‘Fred doesn’t know when to give up does he? It would be far easier if he just left them there to _thrive in their natural habitat, as_ the Sister would say.’

Another moment of silence passed between them. Nurse Crane began distractedly running her hands up and down her thighs.

‘Lovely day.’

‘I hope it lasts,’ Delia nodded, beginning to feel a little uncomfortable at the strained pleasantries. She would leave it a minute, just to be polite, and then go back inside. There was clearly something on Phyllis’ mind and she didn’t want to intrude on the peaceful seclusion she had probably been seeking herself.

‘Isn’t he the chap who goes on about being halfway to paradise?’ Nurse Crane glanced down at the magazine still open on Delia’s lap. 'Barbara is quite struck on him I believe.’

‘Yes,’ Delia replied, not sure whether or not Barbara really did like Billy Fury, although he was from Liverpool so she supposed so. ‘He’s alright, but Pats says he sounds like he is singing down a well.’ Delia’s face fell as she noticed that the soft smile Phyllis was giving her didn’t quite reach as far as her eyes.

The older midwife lowered her gaze momentarily, as her face gave up all pretence of amiable cheer. ‘Yes, well.’ She started, hesitating. ‘About Patsy. Nurse Mount,’ she corrected. ‘You and Nurse Mount.’

Delia’s heart constricted. You and Nurse Mount? She couldn’t be implying… could she? No. It could mean anything. But it was the way she said it. It sounded deliberate. She had definitely placed emphasis on the ‘you’. The brunette’s thoughts raced as she tried to keep her face from betraying her panic. When she eventually found her voice, she was surprised at how calm the words had sounded.

‘Me and Nurse Mount?’

‘Yes lass, you and Nurse Mount,’ she reiterated, staring unflinchingly into the younger midwife's questioning blue eyes.

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Delia lied, as she realised Phyllis was not about to expand on her comment and was instead waiting for a reaction.

‘Come on kid,’ she whispered, ‘I think you do.’

Delia felt her stomach clench. She closed her eyes for a moment, and swallowed down the acidic burn of bile that was settling at the back of her throat. She wasn’t imagining it. She knows. But how does she know. How does she _think…_ Her eyes snapped open with new found hope.

‘I don’t…’

‘I saw you both,’ Nurse Crane interrupted. She nodded to the bench. ‘Here, yesterday.’

Oh Christ! oh Christ! oh Christ! She saw us! But _what_ did she see? Delia’s mind frantically scrambled to recall their actions from the day before. Had they kissed? No. But God she had wanted to. The way the sun had shone in Patsy’s hair, the scent of her perfume, the soft touch of her hand.  They held hands. Shit, they held hands. Not for long but evidently long enough to be seen. Say something. There could quite easily be an innocent explanation as to why they had hold of one another’s hand. And why Patsy had her hand on my knee. Oh Christ. Think Busby, think.

 ‘I don’t know what you mean,’   was all Delia could think to repeat, as she stared pleadingly into the midwife's impassive face. She silently berated herself for being so bloody foolish. She had gone over in her mind, time and time again, what she would say if this situation ever arose, but when it came down to it, her mind showed absolutely no sign of cooperating.

The creases on the older midwife’s forehead deepened as she frowned in frustration. ‘Come on lass, I’m no fool, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t treat me like one.’

‘I… we…’ Delia began, feeling the soft prick of tears. She lowered her head. So this is it, she thought vaguely as a pouting Billy Fury posing with his guitar stared up at her from the magazine still on her lap, and all thoughts trailed away entirely. At some point, she wasn’t sure when, she became distantly aware of a warm hand rubbing her arm, dragging her mind reluctantly back into focus.

‘It’s alright love. I’m not here to pass judgement,’ Nurse Crane reassured softly. 'Just to encourage you both to be more circumspect.'

Delia took a moment to digest what she had just heard before lifting her head numbly. ‘Does anyone else…?’

‘I don’t believe so, no,’ Phyllis answered quickly, pre-empting what the younger midwife was about to ask. ‘Truth be told,’ she continued as she looked away, her eyes lazily coming to rest on Sister Monica Joan’s colourful blue plant pot of rescued Alkanet  in the corner, ‘I may have paid more attention than most. I saw Nurse Mount’s face. When telephoning the hospital after your…’ Trailing off, she hesitated for a moment before continuing. ‘The poor lass looked broken. I suppose I just kept a closer eye on the pair of you after that.’ She turned back to face Delia, her tone hardening. ‘But that does not escape the fact that you have been totally irresponsible. What if it had been someone else that had seen you? Reverend Herewood, or Sister Winifred, or heaven forbid Sister Ursula? I’m sure I need not remind you what is at stake Nurse Busby.’  

Delia looked down and slowly bit her lip, not quite sure how to respond. Of course she knew what was at stake, what they would stand to lose. Phyllis was right, they had been careless. A ripple of nausea pulsed through her as her thoughts turned to Patsy. She had always known how difficult it must have been, having to cope with the accident alone, but having her pain confirmed by someone else was heartbreaking to hear.

‘Are you going to tell anyone?’ Delia lifted her glistening eyes to look searchingly at the older midwife.

‘No, I’m not. What folk get up to behind closed doors is their own affair, as far as I’m concerned, but it needs to be just that. Behind closed doors. Do you understand what I am saying Nurse Busby?’

Delia nodded mutely.

‘And talking of behind closed doors,’ Nurse Crane continued, raising an eyebrow, ‘you’d do well to remember that silence isn’t necessarily the best form of discretion.’ She winked. 

Mortified, Delia’s eyes widened as a red hot flush crept traitorously onto her cheeks at the realisation of what Phyllis had said. Oh God, she thought, she actually winked.

A smile briefly tugged at the older midwife's mouth before she placed a reassuring hand on Delia’s wrist and persisted earnestly. ‘Now you think on what I’ve said. Let this serve as a warning to you both.’

Delia nodded weakly.

‘Right then,’ she announced with an air of finality, standing and inhaling a deep breath. ‘I must get on. I need to perform some unexpected maintenance on the Rolodex. Some begger, pardon my language, has been using quite another filing system to that of my own.'

Delia watched blankly as the midwife gave her a curt nod before turning and disappearing up the steps into the convent. What had just happened? she asked herself, stunned by the brief exchange. Her mind attempted to summarise the main points from their conversation. Nurse Crane knew about them but wasn’t going to report them to Sister Ursula. Right, she thought numbly, still not entirely convinced that she hadn’t succumbed to sun stroke and dreamt the whole thing.

Lost in thought, she absently folded the magazine she had been nervously clutching, and placed it aside. What would she tell Patsy? Should she tell Patsy? They had indeed grown careless, especially recently, she admitted. After the freedom of a near empty Nonnatus House for four weeks, it had proven to be quite a challenge to fall back into having to filter every single look and gesture. They had grown accustomed in that time, to unguardedly sharing each other's company…. and beds. Surely, she reasoned, they could be more discrete without Pats needing to know? Delia’s hands plucked anxiously at her dress as she contemplated Patsy’s reaction. With a shaky sigh, she squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she had taken that nap after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It feels a little odd continuing with this fic given the events of episode 6.2 but 99% of this chapter had already been written, so I may as well plod on! Thanks again go to Steph for straightening things out for me.

 

Patsy had never felt more thrilled to see the clinical room in her entire life. She flumped her medical bag down on the table with a weary sigh and began unpacking the days equipment, her mind already teasing her with thoughts of lowering herself into a soothing hot bath. It was arguably an odd desire given the humidity of the day, but her screaming muscles were overruling any semblance of good sense, and desire not to resemble a beetroot. She must have cycled the whole of Poplar twice over, if her aching legs were anything to go by. The thought of relaxing in a bath with a magazine and a bar of Hartnell really was rather appealing.

Turning around with a handful of rinsed test tubes, Patsy grimaced as she took a step towards the autoclave. She had an idea she had pulled a muscle cycling back along Brunswick Road on her way home. The sharp twinge she was now experiencing in her thigh would appear to suggest she had been quite correct. She carefully secured the test tubes in place and closed the lid before running her hand down the back of her leg. She would have to remember to apply liniment oil before bed. Rather, she corrected as a pleasing thought popped into her head, she would ask Nurse Busby to apply some liniment oil before bed. That, along with a long soak in the bath ought to do the trick.

Patsy limped back over to the table and reached to pick up a rolled bandage. She paused for a moment as a thought flashed in her mind, and the red-head’s lips curled into a soft smirk as she imagined Delia’s diligent hands slowly massaging oil into her bare thighs. Gosh, she thought, Delia really did have the most remarkably masterful hands. Her mind began recalling events from the previous evening and the touch of nimble, determined fingers exploring every inch of her skin. Good Lord. She bit her lip distractedly as the already stifling temperature in the room suddenly seemed to rise further by several degrees.

Not wanting to allow herself to fall any deeper into the recollection and thoughts of precisely what the brunette could do with those hands of hers, Patsy reluctantly dragged her mind back to the task at hand. It took several dazed seconds to remember exactly what that task had been, but she eventually regained her composure and reached for another bandage, hurriedly replenishing her bag ready for the morning’s work, before washing her hands and hobbling to join the rest of Nonnatus for tea.

As Patsy entered the already crowded kitchen, she noted with relief that Sister Ursula was not present at the dining table. Any time spent in the icy Nun’s presence could be considered a trial but mealtimes in particular had become a singularly dull affair since her arrival. She silently thanked God, or the traffic, or whatever else it had been that had delayed the senior nun’s return from her visit to Chichester, and moved to take her seat next to Delia.

It seemed Patsy wasn’t the only one who’s spirits had clearly been lifted by the Senior Nun’s absence. Sister Monica Joan who, since being stripped of televisual and Bon Bon pleasures, and had become most subdued during mealtimes, was currently engaged in gleeful exploration of the contents of Violet’s latest condiment delivery. Patsy chuckled to herself. This tea time was revving up to be anything but dull, she thought, if the look on Nurse Crane’s face was any indication. The older midwife was staring contemptuously at Sister Monica Joan, who nonplussed, continued to spoon large dollops of jam onto her plate.

Patsy tried rearranging her face into what she hoped would be a concerned look rather than an amused smirk as she pulled out her chair and gingerly sat down in between Delia and Barbara. She turned to Delia expecting to share a raised eyebrow, and to receive some sort of indication as to what drama she had missed, but the instant their eyes had met Delia quickly snapped her attention to the glass of water in front of her. Before Patsy had a chance to think any more of the hastily avoided eye contact, the sound of Sister Julienne clearing her throat from the other end of the table signalled the commencement of grace.

‘Sister. Please.’

Sister Monica Joan paused, her generously laden spoon poised to make one further sortie to her plate. She lowered her head with sheepish contrition before returning the spoon and placing the jar down gently onto the table.

‘Thank you,’ acknowledged Sister Julienne with a wry smile, folding her hands and continuing. ‘O Lord, we thank you for the gifts of your bounty which we enjoy at this table. As you have provided for us in the past, so may you sustain us throughout our lives. While we enjoy your gifts, may we never forget the needy and those in want.’ A chorus of ‘Amens’ resounded before the sound of clattering crockery filled the room, as eager hands filled plates and stirred drinks.

‘Something wrong with your leg Nurse Mount?’ Nurse Crane peered up from the salad bowl she was holding to look enquiringly at the red-head before stabbing a tomato with her fork.

Patsy winced. She felt sure that Phyllis was picturing Sister Monica Joan’s head in place of that poor tomato, if the force by which it was skewered was anything to go by. She made a mental note to make doubly certain not to ever find herself on the midwife’s bad side. She picked up the teapot and answered brightly as she began pouring into her cup. ‘Oh, nothing terribly serious. Just a strained muscle.’ She continued as Barbara passed her the milk jug. ‘I dread to think how many miles I cycled today. I had quite forgotten how frightfully taxing the district rounds could be on one’s legs.’

Phyllis nodded in agreement as she deposited lettuce leaves onto her plate. ‘Hmm. I don’t envy you youngsters, having to battle with those wretched contraptions on a daily basis. Once was quite enough for me. Thank heaven for my motorcar, that’s all I can say. See that you get some liniment on that tonight, won’t you.’

‘I shall indeed,’ Patsy replied, quickly taking a sip of tea before her mind wandered off again into thoughts wholly unsuitable for the dining table. Once all salacious thoughts were safely reined in, she placed her cup back on the saucer and reached for the pickled onion jar in front of her, risking a quick glance at Delia as she did so. It would be quite usual for her to find the brunette raising an eyebrow or flashing a saucy dimple at the merest whiff of a suggestive comment, watching delightedly as a blush inevitably spilled onto Patsy’s face as a result. But not today. Instead, an oblivious Delia was blankly staring at her own teacup.

Patsy considered her for a moment longer before turning her attention back to the pickled onion jar. She thought she was looking a little drawn, tired perhaps. She knew how hard Delia had been working lately, with another batch of exams soon approaching, so she had probably used her afternoon off to catch up on some sleep. She had most likely been woken up from a nap, Patsy reasoned, and was still feeling a tad sluggish.

After eventually managing to successfully capture half a dozen of the slippery blighters from the near empty jar, she replaced the lid and reached for the boiled ham. The red-head discretely moved her leg so that her knee gently rested against the brunette’s, hoping this silent gesture would provoke a reaction; a smile, a nudge, anything to let her know Delia was alright. Far from the response she had been expecting, Delia moved her knee away and turned her attention to the solitary piece of pork pie on her plate; poking it distractedly with her fork. Patsy tried not to let the hurt and confusion show as she continued transferring slices of meat to her plate. Had she done anything to upset her? She had scarcely had an opportunity to, surely. Delia had been on an early shift, so they hadn’t seen one another since yesterday evening. And as she recalled, Delia had been far from upset with her then.

‘Are you feeling quite alright Nurse Busby? You are looking rather pale.’ Sister Julienne was looking at Delia with concern from the far end of the table.

Delia’s head shot up from her plate. She looked around vaguely for a moment before answering quietly. ‘Yes I’m fine thank you. I… I just have a bit of a head ache that’s all.’

‘Perhaps a lie down would help.’

The brunette looked back down at her plate before glancing between Nurse Crane and Sister Julienne. ‘Would that be alright?’

‘Of course my dear,’ Sister Julienne answered as she dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. ‘You may eat when you are rested. I shall see to it that a plate is put aside for you.’

Delia gave the Nun a small smile of appreciation and placed her cutlery down neatly onto her plate. Patsy looked on helplessly as she scraped back her chair and hurried to the door. Desperately fighting the urge not to follow her out, and aware that she was in danger of staring after the brunette’s retreating form a fraction too long to affect mere friendly concern, she pulled her attention back to the table and focused, a little too intently, on the food in front of her. Her mind firmly fixed on her love, she hardly noticed as Nurse Crane’s Yorkshire tones broke through the gathered silence.

‘Too much sun no doubt. You girls will insist on sitting out all hours, rubbing goodness knows what into your skin. Including my Trex by all accounts.’

‘Oh no,’ Barbara contradicted, smiling apologetically at the older midwife. 'Not me. Not anymore. Not after resembling a boiling lobster for weeks. My skin is only now returning to normal.’

‘Nurse Mount,’ Phyllis chimed, snapping Patsy’s mind away from weighing up the likelihood of Delia really having a headache, ‘pass me the piccalilli would you? It may go some way to pepping up my some what limited vegetation, seeing as there doesn’t appear to be any cheese this evening.’ She glowered pointedly at Sister Monica Joan.

Patsy stared blankly at the older midwife for a moment before springing into action and passing the jar across the table. Not wishing to draw attention to her troubled state, she turned to Barbara in an attempt to express interest in the Crane versus Joan saga.

‘I wouldn’t ask if I were you,’ Barbara whispered in response to the red-head’s raised eyebrow.

‘I sought guidance from the great God Apollo and he was quite clear on the matter. Mice lived beneath the altar, and were fed in the holy of holies.’

‘Hmm. They were fed cake down there too no doubt.’

‘Of that I do not know.’ The elderly Nun smiled sweetly at the older midwife before taking a satisfied bite from a slice of jam smothered bread.

Clearing her throat, Sister Julienne took her cue to delicately steer the conversation onto matters somewhat less fractious, and the rest of the meal was spent in harmonious discussion of how wonderful Reverend Herewood's Easter service had been and the Scouts' upcoming jamboree. Patsy interjected when necessary, but otherwise paid only polite attention as she attempted to clear her plate after her apatite had quite deserted her. All she really wanted to do was rush upstairs to find Delia.

When everyone had finished and she was about to do just that, she was frustrated to find herself accosted by Barbara with a request to help wash up and clear away the tea things. Barbara seemed intent on telling her the same story about Tom in South Africa she was certain she had heard several times before, so she felt quite safe allowing her thoughts to drift back to Delia as she dried and put away teacups. Delia was always quiet and somewhat withdrawn when she had a headache but… why would she have pulled away? It must have been something she had done to upset her without realising. But what? She couldn’t imagine. Having said that, if it had been unintentional, she wouldn't be able to would she?

The red-head sighed sadly. She hated it when Delia was in a dark mood and hated it even more when she thought she might be responsible. It highlighted just how utterly vulnerable it felt for one’s own mood to be so intrinsically linked to another’s happiness.

‘Patsy. Are you listening?’

‘Hmm? Of course I am Babs. Tom. Blade of grass. Frightfully romantic.’

The look on Barbara’s face indicated that had not been the story she had been recounting after all. Patsy smiled apologetically.

‘Are you worried about Delia? Poor thing. I bet she was out in that sun all afternoon. And with not enough water. We had to be so careful to keep our fluids up out in South Africa.’

Yes,’ she replied quickly as she turned back to place the last of the teacups away and closed the cupboard door, her voice sounding a little more cheery than she was aiming for, ‘I’m certain that’s it.’

‘I’ll take over here Nurse Mount.’

She straightened to see Nurse Crane striding towards her, jar of pickled beetroot in hand. ‘You should be resting that leg of yours, not bending in and out of cupboards.’

‘Oh goodness, yes. I’m terribly sorry Patsy. I didn’t think,’ Barbara said, mortified at her apparent lack of consideration.

Nurse Crane placed the jar down and reached for the tea towel Patsy was holding limply at her side. ‘Why don’t you fetch a couple of aspirin up to Nurse Busby? See that she’s comfortable. And as Nurse Gilbert quite rightly pointed out, keeping her fluids up.’

‘Of course.’ Patsy smiled gratefully as she allowed Phyllis to take the cloth from her hand. She had truly never been more appreciative of Nurse Crane as she was right at that moment. She honestly would ‘put ‘em up’ to anybody likely to cross her favourite Yorkshire midwife.

As she headed out of the kitchen, en route towards the clinical room for the aspirin, Patsy hesitated as she spied on the table the miraculously un-empty jar of jam left behind by Sister Monica Joan. She picked it up and smiled thoughtfully as an idea came to her. Opening a cupboard and retrieving a saucepan, she set to work on what she hoped would make the perfect peace offering. 

~~~~~~~

 Carefully balancing a plate on the arm holding the cup, Patsy knocked softly on the door before slowly opening it and peering into the dimly lit room. Her heart lurched as she took in how small and vulnerable Delia looked curled up on top of her bed. Seeing Delia open her eyes, she quickly caught the plate that had started to slip and closed the door gently behind her with her shoulder.

‘Knock knock.’ Patsy spoke softly as she stepped forward to perch on the foot of the bed. She looked down sadly at Delia’s unresponsive form and had to steel herself before continuing. ‘There was no cake I’m afraid. The lemon drizzle Mrs B made this morning has mysteriously disappeared apparently. So…I’ve brought you some toast and jam instead. You must be ravenous. You hardly touched your food earlier.’

Patsy watched intently as Delia slowly pushed herself up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She glanced at the proffered plate and smiled weakly up at the red-head. ‘Thank you but I’m not really very hungry.’

‘Later perhaps.’ Encouraged at least, by the reestablishment of eye contact, Patsy leant across to place the plate down on the bedside table before unleashing her secret weapon that surely, she thought, no Busby could resist. ‘Well, can I instead tempt you with a cup of hot milk flavored with a dash of Bourn-vita?’

To Patsy’s delight, Delia accepted the cup with a defeated smile. Perhaps she had simply been feeling under the weather after all. But delight soon returned to anguish as she watched the smile quickly fade from the brunette's face. Patsy took a breath and sighed before speaking softly. ‘Are you going to tell me what is really wrong?’

Delia wrapped her hands tightly around the cup and stared at the carpet in front of her.

‘Talk to me Deels,’ Patsy whispered as she slowly reached out and gently curled escaped strands of hair around Delia’s ear. ‘Have I done something to upset you?’

‘No,’ Delia assured immediately, earnest blue eyes flicking quickly to meet Patsy’s worried gaze. 'Of course not.’

‘Then what is it?’ Patsy moved her hand to Delia’s thigh, stroking her thumb back and forth reassuringly.

Delia returned her attention to the carpet and hesitated for a long moment before she quietly addressed the floor. ‘I saw Phyllis earlier. She um…’

‘Deels?’

‘She. She knows.’

‘She knows? Knows what?’

‘About us.’

Patsy quickly removed her hand, stung by Delia’s words. Whatever she had expected to hear, it most certainly wasn’t that. ‘What? How? What did she say?’

'She saw us. Outside. Yesterday. Holding hands.'

Patsy stared unfocused as her brain caught up with the realisation of what she had just heard. Numbly lowering her head into her hands, she slowly massaged her forehead with her fingertips. This was not happening, she thought as she bit her lip and tried to focus on what exactly Phyllis could have seen. A long silent moment passed before she suddenly turned her head towards Delia to stare at her with narrowed eyes. ‘So she suspects,’ she whispered. 'She doesn’t actually know. I mean, it could have meant anything.’

Delia lowered her head even further to stare blankly into her cup of Bourn-vita.

‘Oh Deels, please tell me you denied it?’

Delia continued to stare.

‘Jesus Delia!’ Patsy shot up from the bed, ignoring the sudden stab of pain in her leg, and hurtled over to the chest of drawers. She stood facing the wall and covered her face with her hands, breathing deeply. What in God’s name had Delia been thinking?

‘I…I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t think.’

Patsy spun round and stared at Delia in disbelief. ‘You couldn’t think? So you just admitted it?'

Delia’s eyes hardened as she glared at Patsy. ‘What was I supposed to say? Nurse Mount came over all dizzy so grabbed hold of my knee for support?’

Patsy squeezed her eyes closed, took a deep breath and sighed. It wasn’t Delia’s fault. She knew that. She should have been there with her. It should have been her answering questions, not Delia. She made her way back over to the bed and slowly lowered herself down next to the brunette, her eyes fixed on the carpet in front of her.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said softly. 'That was unfair of me. It must have been awful.’

Delia placed the cup she was still clutching next to the plate and hesitated before speaking. ‘She isn’t going to say anything. She just told me to be more careful. She’s known for a while apparently. She said she had an idea after my accident. She saw how you were.' The brunette gently rubbed Patsy’s arm. ‘It’s alright. We’re alright. We just need to be more careful that’s all.’

Patsy snorted to herself. She felt far from alright. She wondered how anything could ever be alright again in fact. They thought they had been safe over the past year and that they hadn’t drawn attention to themselves but all the while, their every action had been scrutinised. Phyllis might not report them; and that she could believe, but if she had suspected, others surely must too. If not now, then they would eventually piece things together. No amount of being careful now would prevent that from happening. There could be no going back, surely?

‘Pats? Say something‘

Say what exactly? Patsy thought blithely, as her mind was slowly drawn to the ever more prominent tick tock of the bedside clock that punctuated the silence. The ticking seemed to grow louder and louder, until it pervaded her whole mind. It felt as though it would crack her skull in two. The feeling of oppression became more and more overwhelming with each sweep of the second hand.

‘Sorry Deels,’ Patsy whispered. ‘I can’t do this.’ Dropping her hands to her knees, she pushed herself up from the bed and strode to the door. She felt claustrophobic. She needed to get out. She needed to think things through.

‘Patsy?’

Pausing momentarily with her hand on the door knob, she briefly glanced back at Delia before quickly opening the door and rushing out onto the landing. Once in her own room she leant back against the cool varnished wood, lifted a trembling hand to her mouth and allowed silent tears to fall.

How could she have been so stupid? To allow herself to believe for one moment that they could have been safe. To have relaxed so blindly and willingly into the happiness of the past year. She was responsible. She knew that. She had let her guard down. It had been a gradual process, not just since South Africa, although she admitted it had been more difficult to remain so rigidly restrained since experiencing the relative freedom of those four weeks. But it had begun a long time before that. Since Delia’s accident. Since being so close to having something one had always dreamt of, but having it snatched away at the last possible moment. And then getting it back again and not ever wanting to let go. Yes, she was responsible for what had happened. For not clinging on as tightly as she should have to her well-crafted facade, and for allowing Phyllis to see through to her soul, if only for a moment after the accident. As for holding hands in the open… how could she have been … and the knee… Jesus.

Patsy took a shuddering breath before wiping her nose with the back of her hand. Rubbing away the tears from her cheeks, she moved slowly to her bed and sank down onto the mattress. She reached for her cigarettes on the bedside table and shakily plucked one from the carton. The sound of the lighter snapping closed and the first sobering pull of smoke into her lungs instantly managed to calm her mind, bringing the hazy jumble of thoughts into sharper focus.

Both their futures had been placed in jeopardy and it was her fault. It was up to her to put things right. What threatened their relationship before, she had been powerless to prevent. She had felt so helpless, so out of control. But this time it was different. There was something she could do to protect Delia… to protect them both.

By the time Trixie returned from her call-out and quietly slipped into the room just past midnight, the ashtray was overflowing and Patsy had made up her mind. She would see Sister Ursula first thing in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thanks once again to Steph for her help.


End file.
